My bedroom becomes a cell,
their deeds make up my feelings,
in such a space, I should be well,
but in there; I start bleeding,
my inner child dies,
to make way, for all my bursts,
with such a side, I do cry,
this is me at my worst,
with mind-forged blades, I stab,
anything, I can see,
in dream like pain, I am so glad,
a fake killer, playing free,
an advertiser lies there,
because of interference,
so does annoying councillor,
so good at incoherence,
networkers writhe in pain,
for my disconnection,
so do those, my love refrains,
lacking their affection,
then these prospective horrors,
start to fade away,
as with anger; overborrowed,
mind dumps out the decay,
then reality, does kick in,
bash my head, on the door,
then my teeth start aching,
as I pace up and down the floor,
asking too old a question,
about mankind’s; self-made doom,
why do they make the tension,
to make me bleed in my room?